Training (5)

Theo whispered as he kissed me.

“Me too,”

I whispered back, remembering the faint rose-scented bath bomb. His soft lips against my ear.

Those were happy days. Days when I was always overly excited and wondered.

‘Is this happening?’

I thought I was sound asleep, but it turned out I was just napping. The dream left a lasting impression on my mind. My faith in Theo has always been so strong that I struggle to believe it when something significant happens.

Noel hadn’t come by yet.

The Theo of my dreams was so different from the Theo who was now standing before me as a kidnapper. The contrast made me shudder.

I slowly sat up and looked at my n*ked body in the light. There was no trace of the patch where it had been applied; my skin was clean as if I had only dreamed of such intense and n*ked stimulation.

Instead, the flesh on the inside of my arm was in serious condition. The bruise was red and new where Cane had bitten and s*cked. It didn’t hurt, but at first glance, it looked ugly, like I’d been beaten.

My left wrist, where I’d been tied up, was slightly sore and my whole body was throbbing from the struggle.

I examined my body carefully and found bruises on my ankles, both marked with claw marks. I remembered Cane’s decisive move of pinning my struggling feet together on the bed before climbing on top of me.

There hadn’t been any direct penetration, but I had to feel that sticky feeling after a good f*ck.

It was confusing.

All of these things had been done to me by Theo, while Cane used his strength to hold me down while he assaulted my body. At first, the pleasure of being forced was undeniable.

But afterward… the sight of Cane’s er*ect p*nis reminded me of the s*x I’d had with Theo, and I was ar*used.

There was nothing to call Cane crazy. I was the crazy b*tch.

I hadn’t connected emotionally with Cane or Noel enough to feel Stockholm Syndrome (the feeling of defending the kidnapper). This phenomenon was… a residue of what was left.

The remnants of a fiery love affair.

When I made love to Theo, I couldn’t imagine being in love with anyone else for the rest of my life. It was so intense, so deep, so real. Even after we broke up, he was such a big part of my life that I knew I would see him again someday. Those feelings still had an effect.

Shame and pleasure coexisted, and reason and emotion clashed violently.

I couldn’t forgive the unscrupulous Theo for doing this, but at the same time, I couldn’t give up hope.

[He’s a madman, you know, why hope?]

The eerie sound of Cane’s voice echoed in my head.

‘Why did I ever hope?’

I scolded myself, trying to regain my composure, but it wasn’t working.

Just then I heard the sound of the door clicking as Noel entered the room. I instinctively pulled the blanket over me to cover myself. Noel hesitated for a moment, apparently startled by my n*kedness.

“You need to change your clothes.” he said calmly.

He quickly regained his composure and approached, placing clean white clothes on the table. As I looked at Noel, a wave of emotion swept over me. It was grief. The memory of what Cane had done came flooding back to me.

The one small consolation was that the different personalities couldn’t directly observe each other’s actions. This meant that Noel hadn’t seen what Cane had done to me. The same was true of Theo.

But then, a chilling thought crossed my mind.

‘What if that wasn’t the case?’

Theo and Noel had deceived me for four years. What if Theo had lied about this too? What if, in reality, Theo and Noel could see everything each other did and share every experience?

I quickly pushed the thought aside. I had never heard of such a case. No matter how unique Theo was, I didn’t need to fall into paranoia.

Noel paused from what he was doing, stocking the table drawer with tissues and towels, and setting the meal on the table corner. I still had no appetite.

“I want to wash up, Noel. ” I said softly, watching him.

He turned to look at me. Our eyes met, and in that gaze, I saw the familiar warmth of the Noel I once knew. Whatever emotions lay behind those eyes, it was still him – at least on the outside.

“I heard you were hurt. Get dressed first. I’ll apply some ointment.” he said, his tone gentle but firm.

Noel didn’t respond directly to my request, but instead turned and waited quietly for me to get dressed. A wave of defiance briefly swept over me, but I knew better. I had to persuade him. So, without protest, I began to put on the new clothes. It was the same white shorts and shirt as before, only this time the sleeve had a special Velcro design to hold the chain on my wrist. Still no underwear.

Even with fresh clothes on, I still felt dirty. I wanted to wash, to get rid of the lingering stickiness that felt like remnants of bodily fluids still clinging to my body. My whole body felt sore as if it had been tied in knots. I longed for a warm bath.

As I finished dressing, Noel sat beside me and gently pulled my wrist towards him. His hands were warm – so different from Cane’s cold touch. It never ceased to amaze me how dissociative identity disorder worked, how everything from their voices to their facial expressions to their body temperatures could change so drastically.

Noel silently applied ointment to the raw skin on my left wrist, his long, dark lashes casting shadows over his downturned eyes.

I sat quietly, watching as his fingers lightly brushed my skin, leaving a warm, tingling sensation. He was thorough, covering the area with ointment and then carefully wrapping it in a bandage.

Next, he went to my ankle, which was beginning to bruise. Without a word, he applied a pain-relieving plaster to the swelling. His hands, though methodical and precise like a machine, moved with an unexpected softness.

The only sounds in the room were the rustling of bandages and the occasional rip of tape.

“Roll up your sleeve.” he instructed quietly.

Noel must have heard about the bruising on the inside of my arm that Cane had caused. Even though it wasn’t the kind of injury that required ointment, I quietly rolled up my sleeve. I wanted to get some sympathy.

As expected, Noel’s brow furrowed as soon as he saw the mess of red and purple bruises. It looked bad, even to me. How much biting and s*cking would it take to leave someone’s skin in that state? Both my arms were covered in similar marks.

Without a word, Noel began applying ointment to the bruises too, his brow still creased. He even wrapped those areas with bandages. Somehow, it struck me as funny. Funny, but… the tears came.

I couldn’t hold back the overwhelming sadness, and silent tears streamed down my face.

Noel paused, mid-wrap, and looked at me, bewildered.

“Why are you crying?” he asked.

“Do you not know?”

I wiped my tears away without responding. If it had been Cane, he would have mocked me, saying something about how crying could still look sexy, or that it wouldn’t make a difference anyway. But Noel wasn’t like that.

Amid my emotional turmoil, Noel’s kindness only made my sorrow swell even more.

“I want to take a bath.”

“You’re crying because you want to take a bath?”

Noel was truly clueless. Maybe he had meant it innocently when he’d mentioned bringing me that medical textbook before.

“I’ll talk to Cane about it. So don’t cry. ” he said.

He whispered, smoothing down my disheveled hair as if trying to comfort me. It hadn’t been washed in three days.

I felt like I must stink of sweat and dirt, but Noel showed no sign of it. Instead, he looked at me with the sweetest, most tender expression, as if he were looking at the most beautiful person in the world.

Looking back, Noel had always been gentle with me. His eyes had always been full of warmth, like honey about to drip. I felt stupid that I hadn’t recognized his feelings before.

“What if Cane says no?” I asked quietly.

“I’ll talk to him. I’ll make sure he agrees.”

Noel reassured me, soothing me gently.

I quickly began to think things through. If Noel was going to let me wash up, that likely meant he would have to remove the chain, even if only briefly. Maybe that would give me a chance to use the toilet, or better yet, find out exactly where I was. It could be my opportunity to gather some useful information.

Rather than stubbornly rebelling, crying, or screaming, it was a hundred times more beneficial to play along, to persuade Noel and get what I needed.

No matter how shocking or confusing things became, I had to survive first and foremost.

Noel seemed genuinely shaken by my tears. Even after the treatment was over, he sat by my side, talking quietly and trying to calm me down.

“You need to eat something to keep up your strength. Make sure you do, okay?”

I nodded quietly, playing along.

“Oh, I brought you the books.”

Noel pulled two books from under the tray and handed them to me. They were both well-known bestsellers, parodies of Arkel’s history.

Books I had in my library. Seeing them now, this entire situation felt incredibly surreal. Out there, beyond this nightmare, there was my hospital, my home, my study, and my patients. All those familiar parts of my life, now feeling so far away, completely separated from me.

“Thanks.”

I muttered quietly.

“I brought chalk instead of a pen. Pens are too dangerous.”

Noel seemed to know exactly why I had asked for a pen. For a moment, anger flared up inside me, but once again, I kept my emotions in check and merely nodded in silence.